


Hostile Intentions

by Dellessa



Series: Prompt Party Replies [45]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Drug-Induced Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa/pseuds/Dellessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt- 7. Prime; Megatron/Smokescreen - “Relax, Autobot; you wouldn’t want things to be painful, would you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostile Intentions

There were times in his life that bravado had served him well. This was not one of those times. The red medic had left with a terse word from Megatron, and it was all that Smokescreen could do but cower. He didn’t want to offline. He felt as though he had so much to live for, so much to still do, but as the warlord grew closer, he felt it all falling away. He was not going to make it through this. 

Megatron moved close enough to touch him, claws danced across his side, “Relax, Autobot; you wouldn’t want things to be painful, would you?” The warlord smiled, a toothy smirk and bent over, pressing his lips against Smokescreen’s. The Praxian tasted energon on his lips, and could only sit back in shock as Megatron ravaged his oral cavity. “A good beginning, but you should put some feeling into it if you value your spark.” Megatron whispered into his audial. “If you are good I might even keep you.” 

Smokescreen whimpered as the mech’s mouth settled in his again, glossa flicking out and seemingly intent on exploring ever mechaninch of Smokescreen’s mouth. He didn’t have any experience with this. He had never wanted to, not in truth, but a hazy warmth began to pool between his legs. He tilted his hips up, wiggling against the berth. There was something wrong with him. Terribly wrong. The warmth creeped up his chassis, growing until it felt like he was on fire. 

Megatron pulled away, and watched him through heavy lids, “You look good like this, but I have an idea of how you will look better.” 

“What did you do to me?” he panted, optics bright. 

Megatron laughed, “You don’t like Knock Out’s concoction?” 

“No, please,” Smokescreen offlined his optics, feeling weak as he was lifted from the medical berth, and carried by Megatron through the Nemesis. He was on fire. His panel snapped open, moisture gathered and dripped. He knew the Eradicons saw him, and a tiny part of his processor was mortified, but it was drowned out by the heat, and the feel of Megatron’s sharp digits pressing inside of him. 

“You have no choice little mech,” Megatron said, he licked his digits and stopped before a large door. It slid open, revealing a spacious room beyond, dominated by a berth large enough for three mech the size of Megatron. Smokescreen was lost in it as he was set down in the center, and trapped when Megatron’s weight settled over him, spreading him wide and pressing inside of him. The was no foreplay, just slick, warm heat, and the slide of the warlord’s spike inside of him. 

Megatron’s sharp denta marked him, leaving his neck cording smeared in energon. Smokescreen barely noticed. He lost himself in the heat, the movement, and the charge that slowly built, and finally exploded through his frame bathing him in darkness as he was knocked offline.


End file.
